Without Remorse
by blddmn
Summary: After several years as a successful Auror, a dark secret in Harry's past lands him in a high security cell in Azkaban. However, his penchant for observation and deductive reasoning make him valuable in catching a misogynistic killer. See how Harry's dark past influences his life and that of those around him from within the walls of Azkaban... Dark!Harry.
1. Chapter 1

******Without Remorse**

******Chapter One**

******Disclaimer: **The rights to the HP universe belong to JKR and Warner Bros. I make no money from writing and posting this.

******Summary: **After several years as a successful Auror, a dark secret in Harry's past lands him in a high security cell in Azkaban. However, his penchant for observation and deductive reasoning make him valuable in catching a misogynistic killer. See how Harry's dark past influences his life, and the life of those around him as he fights to make his mark despite being confined in the walls of Azkaban…

******Warnings: **Violence (I won't make it too graphic though). Character Death. Mentions of Abuse. All sorts of other potential nasty bits. Oh, and swears, gotta have the swears =).

…~oOo~…

___27/08/1996. Diagon Alley._

___ All it had cost him was the price of a train ride to London and the small amount of time it took for him to pickpocket a wand from an unsuspecting passer-by. That was the trace sorted out. His silent protectors hadn't noticed as he took the wand, the crowds of Diagon Alley had ensured they kept their distance. His primary mission accomplished, he continued with the ruse and spent the rest of the day shopping for inconsequential things, all the while trying to piece together which of his protectors was following him today._

___ Keeping an eye on the reflective surface of the window of Florean Fortescue's he easily picked up who was following him. It was rather simple really. All he had to do was look for the one person who didn't shoot him glances every few seconds. As it happened, the old women sitting at the table on the other side of the ice cream shop didn't even look at him once. Tonks._

___So far he had identified four protectors, all of which he knew to some level. First, there was Mad-Eye; he seemed to prefer taking watch on Friday night through Saturday. He probably didn't enjoy the thought of Vernon coming home drunk after a night out and taking out his anger on Harry. Too bad he hadn't been there in Harry's formative years._

___ Dung seemed to only ever guard him during the day; come evening the little crook would vanish off faster than you could say "unscrupulous." That was good for Harry though, he could always rely on Dung to be unreliable, which had paved the way for many trips away from Privet Drive without having someone tail him._

___ Hestia Jones, on the other hand, was a creature of the night. He had never found her ____watching him under the sun. He found it rather amusing that she would sacrifice her nightlife for him; she was probably dry as a desert _down there,___ probably had a worse love life than him, and that's saying something!_

___ That left Tonks, she was completely unpredictable; she didn't mind watching Harry all day and night, sometimes for two days straight. It was most annoying. It was probably a ploy of Dumbledore's to keep him from using a schedule to his advantage._

___ The strange thing about his protectors was that they never stopped him going anywhere. The first few times he had gone off to Diagon Alley he had received letters from Dumbledore telling him how foolish he was being. Those had stopped once it became apparent that he wasn't going to pay any attention to the old man's warnings. But if they weren't there to keep him in place, why did Dumbledore put them there? To observe him, maybe? To find out if he'd become unstable after Sirius' death?_

___ But enough of that; such speculation gets one nowhere. It's best to be on the lookout and keep focus on things within one's own sphere of influence rather than worry about Dumbledore's agenda. As such, manipulating things to suit one's needs shouldn't be too hard. All it needed was timing…_

…~oOo~…

25/07/2004. Azkaban.

"Auror Lupin, please stand still and hold your arms out," The security wizard instructed as his counterpart pulled out a probity probe.

"Tonks is fine," she responded with a cheeky grin.

"All clear," said the man holding the probity probe as he stepped away.

"Looks like your good to go, Auror Lupin," the first security wizard scowled at her as she interrupted him by saying 'Tonks.' "We'll just need you to relinquish your wand and you can pass."

"Always with the wand taking," she said with mock exasperation as she handed it over.

"Can't risk a prisoner getting their hands on one," he replied, "you know how it is."

"Yeah, I saw what happened to Dawlish in the Ministry holding cells," the smile slipped from her face. "None of us were expecting him to just flip like that. He'd not gone for any of the other Aurors since he was captured."

"Dawlish fit the profile," the security wizard said as he led her through the guard station towards the prison proper. "If he'd cut of that moustache then he'd still be here."

"We didn't know he would react like that," she snapped back, not liking the implied victim blaming. "Who attacks people because of their choice in moustache anyway?"

"Crazy people."

"You don't say," she shot back sardonically. "Besides, I think it was more because Dawlish called him a freak. He r___eally _doesn't like that word."

"Noted," the security wizard responded uncaringly.

The two of them took the corridors that wouldn't pass any prisoners. Since the fall of Voldemort the Dementors had been removed from Azkaban, the unintended result was that prisoners were now much more vocal. When an attractive woman like Tonks was seen, it became almost impossible to hear oneself think over the noise of wolf whistles, unabashed propositions, and the occasional threat.

"Here we are; the high security wing. Just give me a minute to unlock the doors," the security wizard said as he started running his wand over the door in swift patterns.

"Just how 'high security' is this place?" Tonks asked, genuinely curious.

"A guard is stationed at the end of each corridor, all the wards, and the barrier door. Never visited a HDK before, Auror Lupin?"

"Tonks. What do you mean, HDK?" she responded.

"Highly Dangerous Killer. I guess it's a kind of Azkaban slang," he responded with a shrug.

"Ahhh. No, I've never visited one. This is actually my first interview in Azkaban."

"Seriously?" He over from his task, "I thought it was mandatory for all senior Aurors to have experience with these guys."

"I'm not a senior Auror," she replied, feeling somewhat self-conscious. "I have personal experience of dealing with the subject."

The man snorted. "I don't want to know."

Tonks scowled.

"Alright we're in," he said. "Now, I need to go over a few rules before you can go in. First, you must stay with your chaperone, in this case me, at all times. Second, you do not go within arm's reach of any cell at any time. Third, you must keep privacy wards up at all times; your conversation should be kept from the other prisoners and the guards. Finally, if you need to give anything to the inmate, raise your hand and your chaperone will levitate it into the cell. You got it?"

"Understood."

The two of them headed in, both of them making sure that they stayed to the side of the corridor that wasn't lined with cells. As they walked along they were taunted by the inmates, most of them Death Eaters caught at the end of the last war. Tonks ignored all the noise, shrugging off their words as the inconsequential ramblings of the utterly deranged.

At the very end, of the corridor there was a simple wooden chair set up several feet back from the bars. Reaching it, she sat down and settled into the privacy ward that had been set up for her earlier.

"Good morning, Harry," she said to the inmate, trying to smile but not quite managing to make it appear sincere.

"Tonks," he said with a beaming smile. It was rather disconcerting how much he had changed from the sullen, moody teenager she had once known. "I'm so glad to see you. Tell me, how have you been?"

"I'm fine, Harry, thanks for asking; and yourself?" she replied not wanting to upset him by appearing rude. It struck her as strange how differently she interacted with him now that he inhabited a prison cell. Then again, he is criminally insane.

"I've been better," he answered with a shrug. "Prison life doesn't agree with me. Far too tedious. But at least I get plenty of visitors to keep me occupied."

"You get a lot of visitors?"

"Oh yes," he replied with a somewhat smug grin. "I'm something of a hero, don't you know? It's a shame they don't allow conjugal visits..."

"Oh I know," she responded dropping an air of solemnness into her voice and refusing to comment on the latter part of what Harry had said. She needed to bring him to the topic at hand before he tried to take control of the conversation. "But your admirers aren't what brought me here today."

"I should say not," he interrupted with a snort, "Kingsley isn't the type to revoke my right to have visitors."

"___Minister Shacklebolt_," Tonks corrected (she didn't feel that Harry deserved to use Kingsley's given name since he'd gotten locked up in Azkaban), "is a good and fair man. He wouldn't do something like that; no matter how much you deserve it."

"A little judgemental today aren't you, Tonks?" Harry feigned hurt, clutching his hand to his heart melodramatically.

"I'm here because I need your help," she ignored Harry's toying.

The man in the cell across from her immediately dropped the act. He leant forwards, resting one arm on the bars of his cell, and gazed intently at Tonks.

"Do you now?"

"Yes."

He pushed off from the bars, wondering further back into his cell, apparently having seen whatever he was looking for in the way she answered. This annoyed her somewhat, as she had been trying to keep her face and voice as impassive as possible at that point.

"I take it you have pictures for me to look at," he asked after a while.

Tonks pulled a folder from out of her bag (items with undetectable extension charms were forbidden within Azkaban, so Tonks had needed to bring a bag big enough for her case files) and raised her hand.

"Don't forget to remove any paperclips," Harry warned her seriously, "who knows what I could do with them."

Blushing embarrassedly, she quickly removed any paperclips from the folder and raised her hand again for the document to be levitated over to the cell.

"Interesting," Harry muttered as he looked at the photos of the crime scene. The pictures were all of women in their late thirties to early forties and all of them had the same slender body type, blonde hair, and roughly the same height.

"Seems they were beaten to death," Harry said after he had looked through the folder, skim reading the notes that accompanied each picture. "How did the Auror office pick this up? I don't see any evidence of magic involved."

"Pot luck," Tonks admitted. "Turned out there was an underage wizard within range for the trace to pick up the nearby magic. When we registered the use of the Stunning Spell in an area that only has one muggleborn second year nearby we sent a squad in to find out what was going on.

Whoever it was that did the casting managed to Portkey away before we caught sight of them."

"Must have had detection wards up over the kill site," Harry mused to himself. "Was the last one killed with an AK?"

"Yeah, she had pretty severe injuries, but no sign of anything that could have caused her death."

"Interesting," Harry murmured as he sat down on the bed in his cell.

"So, what are your thoughts?" Tonks pressed.

"I think this is just the sort of thing Hermione would be interested in," Harry replied. "Is she still the only one in the Non-Magical Analysis Office?"

"Not even that," Tonks said, having to force herself to keep calm despite Harry's messing around; she needed his insight on the case, and getting angry at him wouldn't help matters. "The NMA was disbanded shortly after you were put away. Hermione's moved onto full time creature rights lobbying."

"Good for her. I'm sure she'll enjoy moving from second least cared about person in the ministry to the least cared about," Harry chuckled. "Magical folk really couldn't care less about muggles and creatures. I really don't see why she bothers with it all. As for that psychobabble she uses to tout… let's just say good riddance."

"She said that you used a surprisingly large amount of psychological profiling techniques for a psychology illiterate during your time as an Auror," Tonks pointed out.

"She also thinks it's a good idea to free House Elves and give Goblins equal rights with the Ministry," he retorted. "I have good instincts; I don't need Hermione putting her spin on everything."

"Her techniques seemed good enough at helping us ID criminals."

"Then why don't you learn some of it instead of asking me?" Harry snapped.

"Because I'm an Auror, Harry!" Tonks snapped back (keeping him happy be damned!). "I don't use muggle techniques to catch killers. I analyse magical signatures and investigate the suspects style of casting, the spell choices. Hell, I even see what their wand says about them! What I don't do is look at people who are killed by muggle means. That's what the muggle police do. Not me."

"And that sort of lazy Auror work is why so many of Voldemort's followers were such experienced killers! All they had to do was target muggles and the Aurors wouldn't even notice," Harry shot back as he rose from his bed in anger.

"But you did, Harry!" She jumped from her chair too, only just mindful of the rule not to approach the cell bars. "While you were in our Office we managed to close more muggle killing cases than in the past twenty years combined!"

"Well I'm not in the department any more, Tonks!" He screamed at her. "So you'll just have to fucking work it out by yourself!"

"Fine, I will!" she screeched back before about facing and marching off down the corridor.

"Wait!" Harry called after her, just as she was about to pass through the privacy ward. She stopped and grinned to herself for a moment, glad that her last ploy had paid off; Harry always had to have the last word. His (now somewhat questionable) hero complex didn't hurt things either. She turned back to see Harry pacing, once again looking through the case files as he figured out what the pictures were telling him.

"Whoever the suspect is, they are highly intelligent. Making an unauthorised Portkey without being found out requires a high degree of skill and knowledge about secrecy warding, not to mention an understanding of how to circumventing the Ministry's observation procedures. The level of planning it would take to set up a warded room for killing as well as the abducting of the victims also indicates that your suspect is both intelligent and is doing this because they want too, not because they've gone crazy.

"The way in which the suspect kills the victims is very telling as well," Harry continued, still pacing, pictures in hand. "The victim is beaten to death, with bare hands no less. The suspect is making it personal to them, hence the hands on approach. Pardon the pun."

"So they knew the victims beforehand?" Tonks asked, somewhat shocked.

"No. The victims are all physically rather similar. That looks to me like the suspect is using them as a representation for somebody else. Someone that they desperately wish to lash out at, but are too afraid to do so for whatever reason," Harry corrected her, "maybe even takes pleasure in seeing the women's fear and pain as they die."

"Interesting," Tonks mused, "Anything else?"

"Your suspect is a man."

"Knew that already, hand prints kind of gave it away," she deigned a slight smile at having beaten Harry to that.

"All right then," Harry took up the challenge, "he's arrogant, extremely full of himself. The file says these women were all abducted in broad daylight, often in crowded areas. Although the muggle authorities have so far been stumped as to how exactly that happens. He doesn't disguise himself once he's in the kill room, he lets them see his face as he beats them, and hence why he had to AK the last victim when the Aurors arrived on scene. He couldn't let her give them a description."

Tonks waited for a few moments, hoping that Harry would continue. Instead of speaking, he simply stopped his pacing and looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.

"That's all you've got?" she asked.

"For now," he replied with a smirk. "I'll keep the files and look over them some more. Come back this time next week, I may have something for you."

"Isn't it your birthday next week?"

"Yes," he smiled. "Apparently I'm allowed to have cake."

"Hurray for you," Tonks said sarcastically. "Well based on what you've said, we're looking for a Ministry employee who is high up enough to know about how to know how to make Portkeys without being detected. He's frustrated because of whoever this woman is, but is too afraid of her to act on his impulses. He's also smart and arrogant."

"Yeah, I know it describes just about every pureblood who managed to buy their way out of Azkaban after I took down Voldemort," Harry laughed. "But at least it's somewhere to start."

"I'll leave you to those files then," she nodded at him by way of farewell.

"Say hi to Teddy for me," Harry called after her as she walked away. Tonks felt an uncontrollable shiver run down her spine at his words.

…~oOo~…

******A.N. **There you have it. I hope that has sparked your interest for now.

Please don't forget to leave a ******REVIEW **telling me what you liked/disliked as well as who you think the killer is. Also speculation on to Harry's dark secret in his past would be interesting to read.

Thanks again for reading,

blddmn


	2. Chapter 2

**Without Remorse**

**Chapter Two**

**Disclaimer:** **The rights to the HP universe belong to JKR and Warner Bros. I make no money from writing and posting this.**

**A quick note** regarding flashbacks. Keep an eye on the dates, flashbacks will be non-linear so you'll need to pay attention to just where in the timeline we are. Also, I'm English so the dates are written dd/mm/yyyy, just to clear up any confusion.

...~oOo~...

26/07/2004. Ministry of Magic.

"Tonks, you're late."

"Sorry, Robards," Tonks flashed an apologetic smile at her department head. "I took the train in today. I'm trying to figure out how the subject chooses his victims." Not that it had helped her much, the only knowledge she'd added to her repertoire was all related to why not to use the London underground.

"And being late for work helps you do that how?" He wasn't impressed.

"If I find out about the muggles he killed then I'll be able to figure out why he did it. Basic victimology," she shot back, still keeping her smile.

"You're starting to sound like Granger," he said, voice as deadpan as ever. "Don't."

"It couldn't hurt to try," she pouted.

"Waste of time and energy," Gawain Robards was succinct just about all the time.

"It worked for Harry and Hermione," Tonks pointed out.

"And look where it got them," he shot back.

Tonks took a moment to glare at him. Honestly, wizard folk could be so pig headed when it came to anything muggle. Then again, she'd said much the same thing to Harry only yesterday; although she was able to rationalize that as her trying to get him to help her with the case.

"Whether you like the methods or not, you have to admit it gets results," she pointed out, trying to appeal to Robards' unerring desire to beat the hit wizards in the closed case tally. "Look, we know this guy barely uses magic other than for capturing and transporting his victims. Without residual magical energies at the kill site we can't pick up anything we could use to track this guy."

"You say it as if I didn't already know that," he lifted one of his eyebrows quizzically.

"All I'm saying is that we can use Harry's profile to narrow down our list of suspects. It will be us who figures out who it is, not Harry," now an appeal to Robards' unerring dislike of Harry Potter.

"It's not even a good profile!" Robards spat in annoyance. It was nice to see that he was capable of showing some sort of discernible emotion.

"A pureblooded Ministry employee," Tonks recited from memory. "Not much, but at least its something."

"It's nothing of any use," Robards said grouchily as he turned to stare frustratedly at the pin board which was currently covered in pictures of the victims for their current case.

"If that's all, sir, I think I should get back to working on the case," she ventured, not at all comfortable with the man's stoic silence. He could be a creepy bugger when he wanted to be.

"Good idea," he replied. "Take Proudfoot and start visiting the muggle police who are working this case on their side. I want all the angles covered."

"But I just got here!" she protested. All through her journey on the underground she had been looking forward to getting into the Auror meeting room and tucking into the assorted pastries that were always left there.

"If you're really that hungry then you can grab something while you're out," he said, practically reading her thoughts. "Now go get Proudfoot and quit your whining."

"On it," she mock saluted him and about faced, heading off to grab her partner for this case.

...~oOo~...

_05/04/1998. Malfoy Manor._

_ "Where did you get this," Bellatrix hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. In her hands she clutched the sword of Gryffindor which she had taken from the stunned Snatcher._

_ The five captives, sitting in a ring facing each other and bound in position with conjured ropes, remained silent. Each of them too brave to tell her anything, yet each too afraid to say something to draw her attention away from the others._

_ "Wormtail," Lucius muttered from behind his deranged sister in law, "Why don't you take our _guests_ down to the wine cellar... we can deal with them individually from there."_

_ "No," Bella snapped, "They stay here. We _must_ find out how they got the sword; if we don't then all our lives are forfeit."_

_ "What's going on, Bella?" Narcissa asked, coming up beside her husband. "We have the Potter boy, what else matters."_

_ Harry had to force himself not to roll his eyes at that. Honestly, it didn't take a genius to figure out that Bellatrix was meant to have the sword in her possession. Now, he just had to figure out a way to use her distraction to his advantage._

_ "This sword was placed in my vault. One of the most secure vaults in all of Gringotts," Bellatrix started, turning back towards the captives, her eyes landing on Hermione. "Now, you will tell me how it is that the sword of Gryffindor is resting in my hand right now... or I'll start cutting."_

_ That didn't sound good._

_ "There's nothing to tell," Ron spat through gritted teeth. Harry sucked in a sharp breath; Ron was trying to draw the madwoman's ire onto him instead of Hermione._

_ "So you say," Bellatrix said as she moved into the circle of captives and knelt before Ron. "But there's no way for me to know if you're telling the truth yet... Flagrate!"_

_ Bellatrix's spell was the exact same that Hermione had used two years previously to mark the doors in the Department of Mysteries. Only this time, the spell was much more powerful and the burning trail of magic was being used on Ron's flesh instead of a wooden door._

_ Harry, Hermione, and Dean all shouted out in unison over Ron's cry of pain, all of them experiencing the same feeling of terror as the spell tore through flesh and bone, amputating Ron's left arm at the elbow._

_ "Hmm... this scene is missing something," Bellatrix mused to herself as she walked around them, completely ignoring Ron's agonized howling or Hermione's frenzied weeping._

_ "Ah yes, mirrors," with a wave of her wand she had conjured several body sized mirrors, two behind each of the captives. "Now you can see exactly what is happening no matter what. Isn't that fun?" she taunted them in her mock baby voice._

_ Harry just glared at her, determined not to give her the satisfaction of seeing the fear in him. He'd seen worse than this. Hell, he'd endured worse than this. And inflicted things just as bad._

_ "Do stop your whining, Weasley," she told a deathly pale Ron. "The wound is cauterised, so you won't bleed out any time soon. No, I want you to be alive to see everything I do to you." She leant down so that she was only a few inches away from where Ron knelt, still bound in place by the magical ropes. "And once I'm finished with you, I'll move on to your Mudblood over there. I think I'll drain all her blood onto the floor, just to see how dirty it really is."_

_ "Fuck you, bitch," Ron spat._

_ "Wrong answer," she said in her most sing-song voice. "Evanesco!" she incanted, pointing her wand at Ron's trousers, causing the layers of clothing to fall away until he was left bare from the waist down._

_ Harry screwed his eyes shut, knowing what was about to happen. He forced himself to recount the names off each member of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team loudly in his head in an attempt to block out the sound of Ron's frenzied pleading being cut short by Bellatrix's cry of "_Flagrate!"_ and the renewal of Ron's howling._

_ "Please, stop!" Hermione cried. "We didn't get the sword from your vault. You have to believe us!"_

_ "And why should I believe you? Silencio!" Bellatrix said as she silenced Ron's screams. "You see, this sword should be in my vault. This sword that you had in your possession. Therefore, it follows logically that you took the sword from my vault. Do you see where the problem comes from, girl?"_

_ "We didn't take it," Hermione sobbed. "It's a fake, just ask Griphook, please!"_

_ "I suppose it couldn't hurt to ask the Goblin," Bellatrix muttered as she stood up and once again turned her wand on Ron. "Eviscerare!"_

_ "Now, Goblin," she turned to Griphook, ignoring Hermione's frenzied scream and the sound of Dean throwing up as Ron's intestines burst from his stomach. "That boy has maybe five minutes left to live at most. The way I see it, a smart Goblin would tell me the truth for the first thing I ask him, unless said Goblin wants to meet a very similar ending."_

_ Griphook gulped and peered intently at the sword. For a good long moment he just sat there, staring. Then with a hint of trepidation in his voice, he looked up at the woman that could well be his murderer, "This sword is a fake."_

...~oOo~...

26/07/2004. Azkaban.

"And that's all you'll get out of me for now," Harry said with a grin. Standing up, he moved over to the bars of his cell and smiled down at the woman seated on the other side.

Romilda Vane arched an eyebrow at him in response. "Really, Harry! Just when things are getting interesting?"

"Oh hush, my dear," Harry laughed. "Don't pretend that your readers won't be enthralled by the cliffhanger." He allowed himself to chuckle some more. "Besides, you already know how it all turns out."

"Not from your point of view," the reporter pointed out. If she weren't so useful, Harry would have told her to give up reporting and just write a horror novel. Such was her fascination for the gory details. As it happened, he found her job writing about magical crime for the Prophet to be most agreeable.

"Which is why I'm telling you my story," Harry replied suavely. "But enough of ancient history, though I'm sure people find it interesting."

"Oh? What do you have in mind?"

"See, this is why I like you, Romilda," Harry smiled at her. "Always willing to try out new things."

"I haven't agreed to anything yet, Harry," she replied with mock seriousness.

"The keyword there being 'yet'," Harry chuckled again. They both knew she would agree to whatever he suggested. He'd known she was infatuated with him since sixth year, although he'd not quite known what to do about it back then. Now if only they allowed conjugal visits... it was strange how much more confident he had become around women now that he had been ousted as a murderer. Sometimes he wished he could just give a few tips to his younger self; a celebrity like him could have been nailing a super-babe every night if he'd played his cards right. Then again, hindsight was twenty twenty, and he had been a singularly petulant youth.

"Touché, I suppose it couldn't hurt to hear what you have in mind," she smiled back, looking up at him with a suggestive gleam in her eye... Harry was all too aware about how long it had been since he'd been with a woman, not that he was counting...

"Excellent!" Harry injected an extra dose of enthusiasm. These reporter types always wanted to feel like they were important. "Well it all started when I was visited by Auror Lupin yesterday."

"Andromeda Tonks' daughter?" Romilda interrupted. "Aren't you her child's godfather?"

"Yes, on both accounts," Harry replied, unconcerned by her interruption. "Now, as I was saying; Auror Lupin came to see me yesterday. But rather than come to talk to me about my own crimes, she was much more interested in my take on a new case."

"What kind of new case?" Romilda leaned further forward, anything that caused the Auror's to elicit the help of Harry Potter would certainly make good news.

"Oh, just your run of the mill serial killer," Harry replied nonchalantly, inwardly smirking at the widening of Romilda's eyes. "It seems that the suspect has a thing for killing blondes. Whoever who is, he likes beating them to death with his own two hands. I gave Auror Lupin a profile of a senior Ministry employee, highly intelligent, and pureblooded."

"And why did they need your help for this?" she asked.

"You wound me, darling!" Harry mock swooned.

"I mean aside from your unique perspective and dazzling intellect," Romilda said, again with mock seriousness, although her jest was betrayed by her grin.

"Of course. Anyway, as it happens, I was given a copy of the case files to peruse at my leisure, and free time is something I have in abundance."

"I take it you've thought of something interesting then?" Romilda leaned back in her chair to glance at the notes her quick-quotes-quill was jotting down. Harry suspended his loathing of that particular type of quill in her case for only two reasons; one, she had an amazing rack with the stunning body to match, and a pretty face with long dark hair that framed said face exquisitely (the enforced celibacy of Azkaban had made him even lustier than the average teenage boy). And two, it was dead useful to have someone he could manipulate on some level in the media.

"Naturally," Harry grinned. "You see, aside from the victims all being similar – female, white, blonde, similar facial features, height always within about four inches of each other, and all roughly same age – something else occurred to me."

"And that is?"

"The murders all happen within the week following the first Saturday of a month," Harry said. "Now, the first victim was reported on by muggle police over a year ago, and the most recent one was only a few weeks ago."

"And this has what to do with the time of month?" Romilda asked, unsure as to where Harry was leading with this.

"Well, you see, the way I see it, the fact that they all happened at a certain time is very telling. Whatever is triggering the subject's need to kill is happening at some point around the first week of the month."

"But you said there was only five victims that span over a year," Romilda pointed out the flaw in Harry's logic.

"The Auror's are missing victims," Harry responded, his tone of voice showing that he didn't really care about that aspect of things. "The nature of the crime lends itself to seeming like some sort of aggravated assault gone wrong rather than a calculated murder. In fact, I'm sure that with a little magical assistance the muggle police would be more than happy to write these cases off as being just that."

"So you think whoever is killing these women is tampering with the muggle police investigation?" Romilda asked, somewhat shocked at the idea (whether at the idea of a wizard bothering to interact with muggles or because of the dead women went unsaid).

"I'm almost positive of it," Harry nodded. "And I wouldn't be surprised if the Aurors find out the same thing as they delve deeper into this mystery."

"But what about your theory about this monthly kill cycle?" Romilda pressed.

"Well, having realised that there is at least a semblance of a pattern here, I decided to think back onto what sort of thing could cause a man such anger that he needed to go out and beat the unfortunate woman he chose to act as the surrogate for whoever he really wants to beat to death. From there it was a simple case of figuring out who the intended victim was."

"Not the time for a cliffhanger, Harry," she said in as stern a voice as she could muster despite her overwhelming curiosity.

"Indeed," Harry nodded his agreement. "Well, what one witch would you say could match the following characteristics; blonde, elegant, aristocratic, slender, unattainable-"

"Enough," Romilda cut him off. "I just want hear you say it."

"Spoil sport! Fine," Harry pouted, "Its Narcissa Malfoy, if you must know. And it just so happens that she hosts one of those uppity-rich-people parties on the first Saturday of each month. Purebloods only, of course."

"So the suspect wants to kill Narcissa Malfoy?" Romilda asked, somewhat unsure of the assessment.

"I did just say that," Harry replied deadpan. "Nobody in their right mind would willingly mess with her. The woman is lethal with a wand. Also, I don't believe our killer really wants to harm Narcissa. No, I think that he is in fact utterly infatuated with her, but at the same time, totally impotent. He feels he can't approach her because of his impotence, which in turn leads to feelings of rage and embitterment."

"A vicious cycle," Romilda summarised.

"Exactly," Harry grinned once more. "After each of Narcissa's monthly parties, our boy is filled such rage, both at himself for his impotence and at Narcissa for not returning his affections, that all he can think to do is go out and take out his frustrations on whoever reminds him most of Narcissa when he sees them."

"Interesting," Romilda mused. "And you didn't include any of this in what you said to Auror Lupin?"

Harry looked at her for a moment, a slightly perplexed look on his face. "And why would I do that?" he asked at length.

"I don't know... maybe they need to know," she replied, laying on the sarcasm.

"Ah, but that wouldn't be at all interesting, would it?" Harry replied, a gleam appearing in his eye.

"I get the feeling you have something planned," Romilda felt a thrill of excitement run though her at the idea. Everyone had known about Harry's adventures at Hogwarts; to think that he could still be the fulcrum of yet another tale was simply tantalizing to her (not to mention that she would probably get it all in an exclusive!).

"Oh, believe me, I do," Harry chuckled. "But alas, my current confinement prevents me from taking an overly active role in this grand adventure. Instead I will have to act through intermediaries; you, for example."

"Me?" she gasped. Adventure she liked, provided she was writing about it. Living it wasn't quite as appealing.

"Of course you," Harry pressed. "Who else could unravel such a case, armed with just my word that you're looking for a member of Narcissa Malfoy's peer group? Only you, Romilda, could hope to find out who this man is before he kills again."

"Not the Aurors?" she asked, still unsure.

"Auror Lupin will have her part to play," Harry waved her off. "But I have the feeling that as this case comes towards it's inevitable conclusion that our poor Nymphadora Lupin will be hard pressed to solve the mystery unaided."

"What makes you say that?" was that a note of apprehension he heard in her voice?

"You'll see, in time," Harry replied mysteriously. "For now though, I suggest you follow in the footsteps of good old Rita Skeeter and get down to some highly invasive investigative journalism. Best hurry, as well, or the Aurors will have figured out what to do before you get your scoop."

Romilda sat there for a few moments, unsure about what to make of this. Inevitably though, she decided that Harry was right, and that she really could solve this case if only she applied herself to chasing down the leads. Hell, if she cracked it before the Aurors figured it out she'd be all but guaranteed a deliciously fat bonus from the Prophet editor.

"Do send my best wishes to the Weasleys when you're not too busy," Harry called after her as she started to leave. "Ginny hasn't sent me a single letter since I was locked away, and you know how much I hate to be ignored!"

...~oOo~...

**A.N. **Thanks for reading guys. For those also reading my story In My Head, I'm afraid to say that the laptop I was writing the latest chapter on has crashed =(. So I'm having to salvage that and copy it onto the computer I'm using to write this (writing fanfiction on my gaming PC is most upsetting!), so updates for In My Head may be delayed for a bit.

Don't forget to leave a **review** telling me what you like/hate about this story!

Thanks again,

blddmn


	3. Chapter 3

**Without Remorse**

**Chapter Three**

**Disclaimer: **The rights to the HP universe belong to JKR and Warner Bros. I make no money from writing and posting this. Also, the flashback in this chapter was inspired by a Cannibal Corpse song (again, I own no rights and get no money from this)... Kudos to anyone who can figure out which song.

**A quick note** about wizarding currency. I know that in canon a Galleon is worth about £5. unfortunately, with that kind of pricing, the wizarding economy would be none existent. You've probably all seen this in one fic or another so I'll spare you anything too boring... but basically, I go for the one galleon is £24.65 ($37.55), sickle is £1.45 ($2.21), and knut is £0.05 ($0.08). I know this wouldn't really fix the weak wizard economy problem, but its a relatively easy model to use and makes more sense than the one used in canon.

...~oOo~...

26/07/2004. Sheffield.

It had been a terrible day so far. Tonks and Proudfoot had done as instructed and left the Auror offices at the Ministry to go searching for clues by talking to the muggle police that were involved on the cases. The key issue, they found, was that none of the muggles working the cases were at all inclined to believe them that the murders were in any way linked.

Whenever the two Aurors arrived at a muggle police office, the first thing they did was have a quick game of rock, paper, scissors, the winner of which would get to search the building for signs of magical activity. It was a fairly boring job, in and of itself, but it certainly beat the crap out of having to spend what could be potentially hours hashing over the same details with muggle police.

Unfortunately for Tonks, Proudfoot seemed to be rather adept at predicting whether she would choose rock, paper, or scissors, thus dumping her with the task of persuading the muggle police of their point of view. That she had to get them to believe she and Proudfoot were MI5 agents was also proving highly difficult. Nothing a quick confundus curse couldn't fix though.

"So, constable, what you're telling me is that you don't see any similarity, none whatsoever, between the deaths of these five women?" Tonks forced herself to keep calm in the face of such overwhelming reluctance to accept the truth. This was the fourth of the five offices and this guy was being just as stubborn as the rest.

She and Proudfoot had made a field diagnostic of 'under the influence of a mind altering curse' on all of the officers they had talked too. The men's behaviour alone was all they needed to confirm it; all of them were uncooperative and highly resistant to any indication that the murders were linked. Given that the evidence was rather overwhelming, they knew there was a magical influence involved.

Sadly though, it was also evident to both of them that they couldn't whip out their wands and fix the situation as whatever curse or potion was being used to relay orders from the killer was resistant to all of their healing and nullification charms. That left Tonks trying to crack them through sheer perseverance and attrition, hoping that stressing the officers out would weaken the curse enough for something useful to slip.

"For the last effing time, there is no reason to see these deaths as related!" the muggle police officer was just as annoyed as the Auror. "While murders are always horribly tragic, it does nobody any good to start throwing round theories about serial killers. All you'd do is start a panic."

"But the MO is identical for all five of the murders!" Tonks seethed, thinking back bitterly on the game of rock paper scissors she had lost to Proudfoot, which had landed her with talking to the muggles investigating the death while he got go through the (much less stressful, in her opinion) magical detection protocols.

"They were all beaten to death, which I suppose could indicate a disorganized serial killer; that's true. But you're overlooking some pretty relevant details here, Ms Lupin," The officer lifted his chin, looking down his nose at her. Tonks had to fight not to roll her eyes, pre-emptively zoning out so that she didn't have to pay too much attention to whatever Granger-esque psychobabble the man was about to come out with.

"Firstly, all five of these murders happened in completely different parts of the country. If we really did have a raging psychopath on the loose I doubt he'd be in any mental condition conducive to extensive travelling. Secondly, there is no evidence that links any of these murders together; in fact, there was _no_ usable evidence where we uncovered the first body on your list here last year. Just the fist marks and the body left in a back alley."

Tonks was about to argue back, ready to lay into the man once more (you never know if someone could accidentally slip something useful through the net of confusion a Confundus caused) when she caught sight of Proudfoot moving towards her. He was covertly signing the Disengage/Abort hand sign as he moved towards her.

"I'm sorry, Officer," Tonks said, adding just a little scorn into the man's title. "I'm afraid I'll need to cut this short to discus things with my colleague."

"Sure you do," he snarled in reply. "Now get out of here and stop wasting my time."

Tonks bit back a scathing retort, and instead moved straight over to Proudfoot. The second she reached him he about faced and marched strait towards the doors that lead outside the police station.

"What gives?" she asked the second they were alone outside.

"Somebody put up a monitoring charm on the building," Proudfoot informed her without preamble. "Whoever set it up will know that we're on their trail."

"Point being?" Tonks asked, trying to piece together things in her head. "I would have thought that our killer knew we were after him since we sent that squad of Aurors after him."

"The charms were old, Tonks," he replied, fixing her with a look heavy with meaning. "Set up before the raid; our guy has been preparing for an eventuality like this for some time."

"We didn't find that stuff on the other police stations," Tonks pointed out. At the three other stations they had found nothing out of the ordinary other than the magic used on the policemen. "Why would he only do this one?"

"I'm not sure he did," Proudfoot answered uneasily. "This is the most recent victim other than the girl who died via AK."

"And there's no point in even going to that one," Tonks put in. "The muggles still have no way of dealing with that curse, their evidence will be even less evident than what we've found so far."

"Indeed, and that's been scant enough thus far," Proudfoot agreed with a grimace.

"So what do you want to do about it?" Tonks asked him.

"Well, I want to check out the last police station anyway. If only to check for more monitoring charms," he replied speculatively. "With any luck, I'll be able to pick up a usable magical signature. After that I want to go back to the other stations and check again, also, we need to get an Obliviator squad to see if they can sort out what's messing with the police's minds.

"Bloody hell, Proudfoot, that'll take us hours," Tonks groaned. They'd been at this for a while already, and she really needed a piss, not that Proudfoot needed to know that.

"No rest for the wicked, Nymph," he smirked at her as he stepped out of hitting distance.

"Call me 'Nymph' again and I'll feed your balls to a Cerberus," Tonks hissed back. Only jesting in part.

Proudfoot took the hint and dropped straight back into professional mode. "We need to find out which wizards are capable of this level of planning and covert magical operating. Go back to Potter and get his take on the developments."

"Fuck Harry," Tonks said seriously. "We don't need him to solve this case. Besides, his last profile was less than useful."

"I'd not be so sure," he pondered, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "If we're really dealing with a senior Ministry employee, a pureblood, and now someone trained in magical espionage; I'd say we're looking for one of the Death Eaters that wasn't caught after the war."

"Or managed to buy their way out," Tonk's muttered with a scowl. Even with Kinsley in charge, they'd had to let off too many of the more financially wealthy Death Eaters in exchange for a large percentage of their fortunes. The Thicknesse/Umbridge administration had left the wizarding government all but bankrupt after their tremulous attempt to run the magical community; thus forcing Kingsley to strike deals with the wealthiest Death Eaters.

"That still isn't much help to us," she continued. "Since the last battle, the Dark Mark has become all but invisible, and is fairly easy to conceal with glamours now that it's lost most of its power. We won't be able to just walk into the Ministry and round up the Death Eaters."

"Which is why we need another opinion," Proudfoot pointed out, annoying Tonks with his persistence. "Just see what Potter has to say."

Tonks glared at him.

"I know you don't like him," Proudfoot tried to placate her, "and I know Robards feels the same way. But we need to face reality here; we've never been good at solving muggle murder cases, while Potter and Longbottom closed them faster than Hagrid can drink firewhisky."

"Then I'll just bloody ask Neville," Tonks shot back, but she knew she wouldn't. Neville had moved on from the Auror life since he put Harry behind bars. That whole episode had broken his detective spirit. Neville Longbottom now spent his time split between his budding career as a Hogwarts professor, and co-owner of the Leaky cauldron which was now run by his wife, Hannah Longbottom (née Abbott).

"I doubt it, you pity him too much," Proudfoot countered. It was true, in a sense; Harry's fight with Neville had left his Auror partner in a Mad-Eye like state. Specifically, he now only had one eye (although Neville chose to wear an eye patch rather than have the eye substituted), although the incident had left Neville so traumatised that he handed over his badge the next day.

"Besides, it was always Harry that worked out who the culprits were," Proudfoot continued. "Longbottom was the one who figured out how to catch the buggers once they had an ID."

"I'm still not going to see Harry," Tonks said stubbornly. "He asked about Teddy yesterday. I'm not going back to see him."

"You'll need to at some point, but okay, I understand," Proudfoot relented. "How about Granger?"

Tonks snorted. "Hermione would as soon curse us as help us."

"Still mad over having her department axed?" Proudfoot asked nervously.

"You could say that," Tonks smirked, knowing full well that despite the stoic air Hermione liked to put up now that she'd switched to full time creature rights lobbying, she was still fuming on the inside. Outraged at how nobody took her seriously, despite her success, and how Kingsley had ousted her. "Besides, her consultancy fee is exorbitant."

"How much?"

"Fifty Galleons per hour," Tonks answered frankly.

"Shit," was all Proudfoot could muster, he was slightly wide eyed at the large number. "Think you can call in a favour from her?"

"She doesn't owe me any favours," Tonks pointed out.

"Damn it, Tonks," he put he hand to his head in annoyance. "Just try something, okay?"

"Sure thing," she replied. "But first lets get on with our jobs. I'll see Hermione tomorrow morning."

"Thanks, Tonks," Proudfoot smiled as he pulled out his wand discreetly, Tonks doing the same. Only moments later they were heading into a side alley and Apparating back to the Ministry to pick up a squad of Obliviators to help deal with the confounded muggle police.

...~oOo~...

_24/02/2000. Greater London._

_ Harry looked down at the decaying carcass. Milling all around him were crime scene photographers and police men, those with camera's trying to capture as much of the scene with their lenses before the unpredictable British weather removed any possible evidence. The police presence was disproportionate in Harry's opinion, even for a murder scene like this. It probably had something to do with the droves of media hounds that were standing just beyond the taped off area._

_ "Victim number seven," Neville said from beside him. Other than the muggle detectives who actually worked this case, Harry and Neville were the only ones not moving around, they were just standing there, looking down on the corpse._

_ "She looks more or less the same as the others, it's got to be the same guy," Harry confirmed as he pulled out a muggle dictaphone. He'd still need to copy his notes to parchment later, but he found the muggle device to be better than using a quick-quotes-quill (a magical device he truly loathed)._

_ "Victim was left in the back Alley approximately two hours ago," he said into the dictaphone. "Auror HQ received word from muggle sources half an hour ago. I and Neville arived on scene just five minutes ago."_

_ "Victim has been left face down on the ground, the body appears to have been left to putrefy for a considerable length of time prior to being deposited in this location," Neville took over as Harry took a pause to examine the body closer. "Judging by tissue damage to the body, and what appears to be an abundance of maggots, it appears that body was left to be eaten by insects prior to relocation."_

_ At that point Harry stood up, having just examined the dead woman's neck and wrist's, Neville passed him the dictaphone and moved off to talk to some of the muggle investigators who had been on the scene for longer than the two Aurors._

_ "Ligature marks about the wrists and ankles indicate that the victim was restrained," Harry said as he brought the dictaphone to his mouth. "similar marks around the neck further indicate that the victim was killed by strangulation. Just waiting on Neville to bring back confirmation from muggle authorities."_

_ Harry looked back to his partner, who was just now concluding his discussion with the muggle police. A short while later Neville returned with a solemn set to his face, he nodded sadly at Harry and held his hand out for the dictaphone._

_ "Muggle authorities have identified the victim as Elizabeth Turner, eighteen," Neville's voice held no tremor as he talked about the victim, the war and his subsequent work as an Auror had desensitized him to a great degree against the horrors of death. "Elizabeth was reported missing eleven days ago, after she went missing while on a night out with friends. Early estimate based on level of decay places her death between nine and eleven days ago."_

_ Harry shook his head in annoyance, they should have caught this one ages ago. The Aurors had been notified after the fourth body was found and no useful evidence had turned up. Apparently the police had thought they had it in the bag after just the first murder, having found traces of semen on and in the body, however they hadn't been able to make anything of it after that, with no matches on the system or in any of their searches since._

_ "Initial forensic examination has shown that the victim died as a result of strangulation, although also exhibits evidence of torture prior to death, it appears that the victim was restrained for the duration of her captivity," Neville hesitated, a brief flash of disgust flashing over his face before he continued._

_ Harry already knew what he was going to say, it was always the rape aspect of cases like these that angered Neville the most. Not for the first time, Harry wondered about what had happened during that fateful seventh year at Hogwarts; people were surprisingly tight lipped about it, and Harry was sure they'd made a pact not to talk about the worst of it. _

_ It confused Harry slightly, that Neville could see the evidence of the worst tortures imaginable and not bat an eyelid, but just the mention of rape could make him shiver in rage. But then again, Harry had to admit to himself, he was somewhat lost when it came to understanding others in an empathic sense; just look at Ginny, why his long standing girlfriend still badgered him about marriage was utterly beyond him._

_ "The victim shows signs of sexual assault, both pre and post mortem," Neville said at last, a dark look in his usually jovial eyes and a deep frown marring his handsome features. "It is further confirmed by the muggle authorities, and I and Harry concur, that Elizabeth Turner is the seventh victim of subject theta, aka, the necro-strangler."_

_ Neville finished by clicking the off switch on the dictaphone and handing back to Harry, who promptly put it in his pocket. The two of them took one last look at the body, Neville mournful, sorrowful at the unnecessary loss of life and angry at the person who could do such a thing. Harry's glance was one of apathy, though he passed it off as solemnity._

_ "We've got to catch this bastard, Harry," Neville said as they turned away from the crime scene. They walked side by side away from the crowd of reporters and onlookers as they tried to find a suitable place to Apparate back to the Ministry._

_ "We've exhausted all our leads," Harry grunted in response. Though he didn't really care about people, especially the dead ones, he did care about failure. Inadequacy was something that Harry truly loathed to find in himself, and as such treated failure as nigh on unacceptable._

_ "I know," Neville said dejectedly. "I thought we had it when we brought Rosier junior in for questioning. He seemed like such a guilty bastard."_

_ "He was guilty," Harry pointed out, a flicker of amusement shooting through him at the irony. "Just for a different crime than what we brought him in for."_

_ "Kingsley will just make him pay a fine for that," Neville muttered in annoyance. "Nothing has bloody changed since the Fudge administration. It's the same old dirty politics just with a pro light leader."_

_ "The world is grey, my boy," putting on his best Dumbledore impression in an attempt to lift Neville's dark mood (that Dumbledore would never admit that the world was anything less than black and white, good and evil, was of no concern to Harry, the old goat was dead after all)._

_ "True," Neville responded with a faint smile, appreciating the levity Harry was trying for._

_ "So what do you want to do now," Harry asked, loathe though he was to go back on topic. True, he was insane, but he reasoned that he was more of a sociopath than a psychopath, and that his more murderous urges came from his violent upbringing rather than an inability to connect with a select few other people. Whatever the reason was, he felt the need to be a friend to Neville._

_ He felt the same about just a handful of other people, Hermione and Ron for starters, although Ron was now residing in Saint Mungo's on the same ward as Neville's parents. Ginny too, to a lesser extent, she was good for when he needed to fuck something, and was excellent at making him seem normal, but she could get annoying when she went on about her fluffy romance nonsense._

_ Sometimes he wished his girlfriend could be more like Hermione. She was sexy too, but in an unattainable, forbidden, much less clingy and annoying way. He had to force down a chuckle at the thought of them hearing how he thought about them. They'd probably hang him by his balls and beat him bloody for being such a sexist pig._

_ He didn't consider himself a sexist though, he was uncaring about more or less everyone, regardless of gender, and felt that finding women to be useful sexually in a way that he didn't find men was in no way sexist. But then again, he had to remind himself that he was perpetually flawed in this regard as, despite being able to befriend a few people, he still couldn't truly understand them. Thus miring him in his own (distinctly male, and distinctly dysfunctional) perception of reality._

_ "I think we should pay Hermione a visit," Neville answered him as they started to move down a deserted alley way. "She finished all her outstanding cases just two days ago, so we should be able to get an appointment in with her."_

_ "Good idea, Neville," Harry grinned. Truth be told, they had wanted to get Hermione's input from the beginning, but the dreadful under staffing in her department (it was literally just her) meant that she was almost perpetually busy. "I wish Kingsley would give her enough money to hire some more people, we could have used her input ages ago."_

_ "Yeah, I know," Neville said darkly as they pulled out their wands. "But you know that he, along with almost all the other big wigs at the Ministry, want to axe her department completely."_

_ "Bastards, the lot of them," Harry summarised his opinion of the situation._

_ "You can say that again," Neville chuckled, "Fuck the lot of them."_

_ And with that, the two Aurors Apparated away._

...~oOo~...

**A.N.** Thanks for reading guys! Sorry for taking so long with this, but the last couple of months were pretty hectic, what with dissertation and completing all my university projects. I hope you haven't been too put out by my absence.

I'd just like to apologise to anyone who was upset by Harry's seemingly misogynistic attitude towards women here. It pained me to write a character like that, but I felt it would be the only way to be congruent with a character as remorseless and emotionally stunted as I'm making Harry.

Also, sorry for teasing Hermione but not actually having her make an appearance, I know a few of you want her to make an appearance. Next chapter, I promise!

On another note, I'd like to thank Winoniel for pointing out some errors in my writing, which I have now obsessively cleansed to the best of my ability. Unfortunately I currently don't have a beta reader; so if anyone wants to volunteer that would be great...

Don't forget to drop a **review** to say what you do/don't like so far.

Thanks again,

blddmn


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